


Saving Grace

by ShipersAnonymous



Category: New Amsterdam (TV 2018), Sharpwin
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Heartache, Medical, Mild Smut, Pregnancy, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21877216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipersAnonymous/pseuds/ShipersAnonymous
Summary: Sometimes life breaks you to the point where you seem beyond saving.Sometimes you break more of yourself than you can fix.Sometimes all you need is someone just as broken and a saving grace.Life has dealt them both a tragic hand but upon their fated meeting, Hellen and Max learn that it's never too late for a second chance at life.
Relationships: Max Goodwin/Helen Sharpe
Comments: 37
Kudos: 67





	1. Meeting of crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> Finally!
> 
> Trust me this one has been a loooooooonnnnnggggg time coming 😂
> 
> I've been a Sharpwin shipper pretty much from the day I started watching the show and the ideas have been bubbling in my head for a while, but with West-Allen (The Flash) and Anaaron (Grown-ish) it's been hard to pencil them down.
> 
> I did a short one shot a while back (it has not been published as yet, still deciding whether or not I want it to see the light of day) but besides that this fic has been the only other opportunity I've had to show this ship some love.
> 
> Now, you'll notice pretty early on that this doesn't exactly follow the show's plot line. Max and Helen meet in an alternate setting and are both going through slightly different situations in life.
> 
> Still I hope you enjoy it! To those of you who know me from my previous works, welcome back! Always a pleasure to have you aboard the S. S. ShipersAnonymous (😂😂😂yall really gotta stop me from making these corny sailing jokes sometime soon).
> 
> And to our virgin voyagers welcome aboard! Make yourself comfortable and enjoy the ride! I like to know that our passengers are having fun and prefer to be notified (as politely as possible ofcourse) when they're getting a little fic-sick so please don't hesitate to star, comment or splash into my dms!
> 
> OK Imma swim away now before this gets anymore embarrassing 😂❤️
> 
> Ship-ya-later alligators and HAVE FUN!
> 
> XOXO
> 
> A. J. 😘

* * *

_Fourteen years ago…_

Max Goodwin bounced the clipboard feverishly on his leg as the seconds slowly ticked away in the practically deserted waiting area. Two women stood behind the small blue and white counter, buzzing to each other as they organised a mountain of paper work into heavy looking files. White, luminescent light, bounced off of the white walls, highlighting the blue detailing and the exhausting fear that sagged beneath his eyes.

At 21 he had a lot on his plate. Between med school, his dad’s sickness and two jobs he was barely getting enough sleep and his tiredness had cost him a week off each of his desperately needed pay checks.

Which brought him hear. With a filled out form shaking on his lap and a million doubts flooding his mind. The seconds hand kept ticking.

Ticking.

Ticking.

Time he needed, time he’d never get back. Time to make a decision. Necessity spoke louder than pride and he stood with what little courage he could gather. Slowly he stepped towards the filing drones and after a moment’s hesitation, placed the clipboard on the counter. It came down softly but the miniscule sound rang through his ears. It’s sounded final, like his fate being sealed.

One of the woman looked up at him and smiled.

“You ready sugar?” she asked, indicating that his hesitation hadn’t gone unnoticed. Max swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, unable to speak. The lady smiled kindly and slipped the board from the plaster counter top. At the last second, just as it slipped out of his view, Max wanted to yell _“Stop!”_ but he restrained himself.

He needed the money and this was the quickest and most decent way to get it.

He kept his head down as he followed a nurse to a room. At the door she handed him an empty container, her eyes were brown and soft. They held no judgement but Max knew that she knew what would happen behind that closed door and that was enough to bring a shameful tint to his cheeks.

Alone in a cubicle sized bathroom, Max took a seat and tried to calm his racing heart. The place was clean, almost too clean, like it was scrubbed with disinfectant after every use. Beside him a stack of magazines were laid out, each cover featuring women in similar posses yet different stages of undress (if they were dressed at all).

He averted his eyes, the embarrassment heating him up from the inside out. It shouldn’t be that hard. He was a man of science after all and sperm donation, no matter how new a concept it was, would benefit countless couples in fulfilling their dreams of parenthood.

Yet, still… he felt a gnawing in his stomach at the thought of fathering a child he wouldn’t get to call his. At the thought of adding his DNA to a person who would know of him as a number on a piece of paper, if they knew of him at all. He pushed out a shaky breath and opened the container.

The lid came off silently, but the magazine that he reluctantly reached for was less behaved. Each noisy page he flipped hardened him in more ways than one. It brought him closer to a brink he wouldn’t be able to return from but needed to cross none the less.

Pushing his shame a side he did what needed to be done. Sweat beaded his brow at the end of the ordeal and he sat for a moment, catching his breath. He looked at the now filled container, pushing down his disgust and reminding himself over and over again that it was all for the greater good. He’d get some much needed money and some day in the future a lucky couple would get a child with his charisma and dazzling blue eyes.

Deciding to dissociate himself from the event in order to keep his sanity, he coldly screws the lid back on, washes his hands, readjusts his image, insures that everything is as neat as it can possibly be then opens the door and leaves.

His seed remains behind, forgotten on the cold counter to later be retrieved by one of the nurses.

Robotically, Max receives his pay check and walks out, determined to keep it his little secret. Determined to forget his ever being there.

Forget the little container that was labelled with the number _389_.

* * *

_Two months ago…_

“You’ve picked donor 389, is that right?” the mousy nurse asked as she clicked away at her keyboard.

“Yes, that is correct.” Helen answered. Her stomach was twisted into knots and the pamphlet she’d tried to read to pass the time had become a twisted mess between her nervous fingers. The waiting area was a buzz with hopeful chatter. The atmosphere hung heavy with a mix of euphoria, excitement, worry and pure dread and Helen Sharpe felt all of the afore mentioned.

Her heart hammered uncontrollably in her chest and her legs were so shaky that she had to brace herself against the glass reception counter. The room was all steel and glass giving it an air of clean modernity. On the wall behind the reception hung framed pictures, depicting the evolution of the now widely known and respected fertility clinic. Helen let her gaze drift over them and wondered which version greeted the other half of her futures child’s DNA.

_If it takes that is._

The voice of doubt wormed its way into her mind, hoping to plant it’s seed in her heart but she exterminated the thought. A little positivity could go a long way and she needed all the happy thoughts her brain could carry.

“That’s it for the paper work Ms Sharpe, if you’d kindly follow Gloria here she’ll help you get ready for the procedure.” The woman behind the counter informed, bringing Sharpe back from her inner battle. Helen looked behind her to find an older woman with salt and pepper hair and smiling eyes that peered at her from behind thin specks.

“Thank you,” she managed to bark out as her heart rate increased. This was it, she was finally going to have her baby. With her purse hanging from the crook of her arm, Helen followed a kind faced Gloria to an empty room where she changed her clothes and under went the necessary medical prep procedures.

All the while she said a silent prayer, repeatedly like a mantra, a prayer that nine months from then she’d be back in that exact room with sweat beading her brow and a healthy baby, her healthy baby, in her arms.

* * *

_Today…_

_His vision was blurred and his head spun but he could still make out the groggy images of on coming headlights and as long as he stayed on his lane all would be alright._

_Georgia groaned beside him and he let one hand go of the steering wheel for her to hold._

_“Squeeze as tight as you need babe but hold on. We’re almost there.” He tried to cheer her on though the exhaustion that filtered his voice took away from the over all impact. His heart was racing at a million beats per second. This was it, they finally got to meet their baby girl._

_Luna._

_The name rang through his clouded mind like a siren song, the only clear concept in his muddled thoughts and (luckily for him) a happy one at that._

_“Keep breathing, just keep breathing,” he reminded her calmly but he heard nothing from the passengers seat. Taking a calculated risk, he turned his eyes away from the road to find Georgia drenched in blood. A wound on her head gushed grotesquely and her face, neck and arms were completely scratched and bruised._

_Max’s eyes widened in horror as a deep crimson stain bloomed like a nightmarish rose from her abdomen._

_“Georgia! Georgia wake up!” he yelled, turning his head this way and that as he alternated his focus from the road ahead to his bleeding wife._

_“Georgia!” he screamed and out of no where her eyes flew open suddenly. She seemed possessed, her eyes devoid of life and human emotion._

_“You should have called an ambulance Max.” She said coldly._

_“You did this to us. You killed us.”_

_Her words hit him like a jack hammer to the chest but he barely had time to find his breath. A deafening car horn blared in his ears and he turned around startled, suddenly blinded by on coming headlights._

Max startles awake, his breath barely there and his body drenched in sweat. The sounds of the city greet his racing heart that pounds, panicked, in his ears. He struggles to regulate his breathing and calm his racing heart. His eyes slowly adjust to the darkness around him and as the adrenaline leaves his body he becomes reacquainted with the bone crushing loneliness that has marked the past year of his life. As coherent thoughts reframe his mind a sadness takes hold of him, deep and painful.

The significance of the day weighing heavy on his shoulder. The taste of longing and guilt make bitter his mouth and heart as his arms burn with the ghostly sensation of holding his baby’s cold body in his arms.

Her skin, as pale as her mother’s, had turned blue from being kept in a preservative freezer while the doctors waited for him to wake up. He didn’t deserve to hold her, to love her, call her his. Not after what he’d done to her and her mother. Not after his pride and hero complex robbed them of their lives.

The alarm on his side table goes off, dragging him back to the present. Max stretches his hand over and clicks it off, the numbers: 4:30 flash at him in bright red from the black background. The red light being the only source of illumination in the still dark room.

His brain is telling him to move and in his minds eye the action seems so simple.

_Just get up Max, that’s all you have to do. Get up and put one foot in front of the other._

He wants to. He knows he can do it. Yet, the task seems strenuous. His entire body is weighed down by a number of emotions balled up into a single mental parasite.

Depression.

It was funny how the prospect of dying somehow gave him a boost to live but now that his cancer is in remission he’s never felt more lifeless.

_Perhaps because you have nothing left to live for._

No one left to love or care for. A wasted life, wilting away in his own guilt. A bundle of semi healthy cells, muscles and self pity. No spring to his step, no sparkle in his eyes, no warmth in the dull thud-thud of his heart.

_Come on Max! Get up! GET! UP!_

Gathering his strength he pushes himself up from the mattress. The first battle has been won. Now he focuses his energy on moving his legs. Max closes his eyes and concentrates on the feel of the carpet beneath his feet. Each fibre moving beneath him as he breathes and the action vibrates through his body to the ground below. He wiggles his toes, stiffens and relaxes the muscles in his feet and legs and when he finally feels in tune with his body he takes the glorious first step.

The second soon follows, then a third and slowly his body comes to life, his brain remembers what it means to smile. It remembers, if only an insignificant bit, what it felt like to have purpose and despite the emptiness behind the up turning of his lips, Max keeps the smile on his face.

Maybe if he fakes it long enough eventually he’ll feel that emotion again.

Happiness.

So he smiles. While taking each step towards his closet, while changing into his workout clothes, while downing a protein shake, while walking out of the morbid apartment.

He just…

keeps on…

smiling.

* * *

It’s quiet. Too quiet. She’s so completely paralysed by emotion that she can’t even hear her own ragged breathing. She can’t register the orange hue of the bathroom light that illuminates the room. Can’t feel the cold of the tiles that numbs her bare legs. Can’t feel the ache in her muscles that cry out from carrying her weight. Can’t taste the minty flavour of the mouth wash that she swished around in her mouth to drown out the taste of puke.

As Helen sits, statue still, with her feet folded beneath her in her grey and white, marble tile bathroom floor, the only thing she can register is the box in her hand. The feel of the rough cardboard against her soft hands. The barely there sound of it crushing beneath her sweaty fingers. The brightness of the pink that colours the letters, boldly announcing:

EARLY DETECTION PREGNANCY TEST

Her heart rattles in its chamber like a drummer at a rave concert, making her tremble further.

_You can do this. You can do this. You can do this._

The self-motivational mantra plays on a loop in her blank mind but does little to convince her that she can actually do this. That she can take the test. That she’s prepared no matter the outcome.

_I need you._

The plea breezes through her mind and she closes her eyes as tears break free, longing gripping at her heart strings mercilessly. This wasn’t a step she was supposed to take alone. He was supposed to be there. To hold her if their dream came crashing down. To kiss her if the future held promise. To cheer her on despite his own nerves.

_Muhammad_

The name she hasn’t dared speak since the funeral. The echo of it in her mind alone is enough to drive her insane! This was their dream. Joint dream. Their life. Joint life.

But his life ended.

So how can hers go on?

How will she find the courage to be the mother she’s always dreamed of being? How will she face her rounding figure knowing that the child inside is half of her but not half of him? How can she call out to him for strength when she is selfishly living out the plans they’d made together?

The sound of crumpling cardboard snaps her out of her self-reprimand session and she looks down to see the box completely mangled in her deadly grasp. She lets it drop to the floor as if it were a snake that has just bitten her and stares at it in horror.

A frustrated cry bubbles to the surface and parts her lips as she shuts her eyes tight and let’s herself be consumed by sobs. Her hand reaches up to her stomach and rests there protectively before she fists her night shirt into it.

She wants to know. She wants to be happy. But it all seems so wrong. So unnatural. Like distorting the beauty that makes love so enchanting and choking out the light that makes life so refreshing.

She feels trapped.

Backed into a corner by a biological clock that is much too analytical to understand the spontaneity of human emotion. The unpredictability of the heart. She feels violated, robbed of a choice. A choice to do things the right way. To give her child the life it deserves.

The father, _family_ , it deserves.

It was either this or living out the rest of her days with answer-less questions rambling away in her head till her hair turned grey. She either succumbed to her selfish need to feel that little burst of life gain shape inside her, hold her babe in her arms and promise to protect him/her, celebrate each first and dry each tear or come to terms with the fact that she would have to wonder what it all felt like and nothing more. Imagine each sensation but never experience it.

It was an emptiness she could not doom herself to. A future she couldn’t dare to picture let alone witness.

So here she is.

Crying, on her bathroom floor, with what promises to be another beautiful day dawning outside.

She has all the symptoms. Dizzy spells, nausea, occasional tummy aches, morning sickness and the most telling of all signs:

Her menstrual cycle is delayed by two months.

_But what if its hysterical? What if you’re willing yourself to believe because you so desperately want a baby?_

The doubt creeps in, always finding a way to snuff out her hope. That same doubt that doesn’t allow her to dream. It doesn’t let her be carried away into a fantasy without a shred of definitive proof. Until she’s seen those blue lines, she’s as good as childless.

The crushed box mocks her from a distance. Laying there, still and disfigured. Taunting her. Daring her to open it, to put her hand inside and explore its contents. To bring her misery to an end. Unable to stand the torture any longer, Helen rises from the floor and walks out of the bathroom, clicking the light off on her way out.

She’ll face that horror tomorrow, when (hopefully) her bravery doesn’t fail her. For now she’s too emotionally drained, weak and hungry.

She needs cake.

* * *

Max’s breath comes out in short pants as he slows his steady jog into a walk. The sign announcing the _Gingerbread_ _Baker_ bakery hangs from the side, facing the general direction Max is walking from. The sign features a friendly faced gingerbread man with an apron, a chef’s hat and a chocolate mousse moustache. The cinnamon scented air wraps him in a homey hug as he steps inside, grateful that the place can still awaken some form of emotional warmth in his grave yard heart.

It’s still quite early and the quaint bakery-café is still quite empty. Tables and chairs in shades of white and caramel brown decorate the centre, with chocolate brown booths lining the walls. A comfy bar (well more like coffee and tea) area is set up against the right hand corner. Complete with a wooden counter and white, high chairs.

It is there that Max spots a lonely looking woman in the process of devouring an entire birthday cake fit for at least four people. Seeing as the rest of the café is practically deserted (save for the staff that are preparing the place for yet another day of family moments, first dates and business meetings) Max settles into a seat beside her and orders a red velvet cup cake and a medium cup of coffee.

Red velvet was Georgia’s favourite while she was pregnant so he figures that Luna must have liked it. It’s only fitting that he savour one to mark what would have been her first birthday. As the waiter gets his order ready, he watches the forlorn woman beside him. She’s petite and seems delicate, with chocolate brown skin and hair that’s twisted into beautiful braids that fall half way down her back. She eyes the icing coated treat with a distant sadness in her eyes, one Max knows all too well.

He’s seen it in his own reflection.

She sighs. One of those sighs that slouch your shoulders and shake your body as the emotion leaves your lungs with a single, drawn out breath. The waiter places his order in front of him but Max barely notices. He’s too focused on the distressed soul before him. A soul so much like his own but that he still, insane as it may be, believes he can help mend.

Determined to see her smile, he sticks out his hand (startling the poor woman) and says:

“Hi. I’m Max, how can I help?”


	2. Dèjá Vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is late. I've been late with all my updates and it's been a little hectic trying to get connected but thankfully I made it work!  
> Some of the information in this chapter may leave you with a few questions but don't worry all will be answered I promise. 🙂
> 
> Hope yall like this one and again super sorry.🙏🏾❤️
> 
> Cliffhanger warnings apply.
> 
> XOXO  
> 💜💜💜

* * *

"Exc _use_ me?” She asks and her accent surprises him. It adds a degree of gentleness to her voice that washes over him with a promise of soothing each ache and pain he keeps locked out of sight. 

  
“I wanted to say happy birthday but, um,” he points to the cake.  
  
“You don’t seem too pleased about it, so how can I help?” She looks down at the cake, piecing the puzzle together and a sad smile crosses her lips.  
  
“Oh this. Its not really my birthday, I just needed some comfort food,” She admits and he looks at her with eyes that ask her to elaborate.  
  
Strange as it may be she feels like she can. Her gut tells her to open up, that it’s alright to let this stranger in.  
  
To let him heal her.  
  
Let him be the courage she can’t find in herself.  
  
“I’m pregnant,” She blurts out, before she has the chance to really think it through and his eyes widen. Max doesn’t really know what to do with this revelation. It’s good news but the conflicting emotions on her face say otherwise. So he waits in hopes that she’ll explain.  
  
“Well, at least I think so.” She adds then corrects herself and says:  
  
“I really want to be.” Her emotions get the better of her for the second time this morning and Helen can’t stop the tears that stream down her cheeks yet again. Max offers her a serviette and a kind smile. He’s still beyond confused, but doesn’t give up on her.  
  
“That’s…” he chuckles softly “…a bit of a loaded statement there. What do you say I get you a hot chocolate and you tell me all about it?” He asks and she looks up at him incredulous. Before she can answer he turns to the waiter and says:  
  
“Jimmy, give me a hot cocoa, extra marshmallows.”  
  
“Coming right up,” the young man smiles and busies himself getting the order ready.  
  
“So, you want to be pregnant and you think you are but you don’t know?” he asks taking a sip of his drink but his eyes never leave her, giving her an attention she didn’t know she craved until now. Helen nods in response.  
  
“I haven’t taken the test yet. I’m afraid.” She answers with a laugh aimed at making the matter a light-hearted one but it only highlights the depth of her fear.  
  
“If you don’t mind me asking, afraid of what?” he presses forward gently, sensing that he’s close to the heart of the matter. As an answer she looks up at him with a tortured expression. Her eyes speak what her mouth can’t find words to express and once again the brevity of their meeting seems insignificant. Her gaze communicates a message that resonates profoundly within him. The emotion blinking in the tears she’s trying to keep at bay, knocks at his heart’s door like an old friend.  
  
The fear of being alone.  
  
Max smiles sympathetically, showing that he understands. She smiles back weakly in response, silently thanking him for his solidarity. Jimmy places a freshly made hot chocolate in front of her and Max lays a tentative hand on her shoulder.  
  
“I’ll be right back,” he says and gives her shoulder a light squeeze. Instead of seeming foreign to her, his touch is actually reassuring. He leaves the café and she cranes her neck back in time to see him jog to the drug store across the street. Helen’s brow creases with intrigue but she decides to focus her attention back on to the bakery murder scene that used to be a double chocolate birthday cake.  
  
Her mind wonders as she pushes bits and pieces of the disfigured treat around on her plate.  
  
_Who is he?_  
_Why does he want to help me?_  
_Why do I want to let him?_  
  
A billion questions she has no answer to but is, surprisingly enough, not in a hurry to find them.  
  
For the first time in years, her thoughts are plagued by something other than her incomplete heart.  
  
Across the street a focused Max browses through the drug store aisles till he finds what he’s looking for.  
  
Pregnancy tests.  
  
An array of them is available and he picks out three with a practiced ease. The kind old lady behind the counter smiles as he approaches and places the boxes on the counter top.  
  
“Hello there Maxy. Haven’t seen you around in a long time” She greets, her bright blue eyes smiling back at him affectionately.  
  
“Hi Josie.” He greets back, echoing the care from her eyes in his voice.  
  
“You been eating alright?” She asks while scanning his features for any signs of malnourishment.  
  
“Yes ma’am. Three meals a day plus the occasional snack.” He responds confidently with that ever present pep in his tone. Josie eyes him suspiciously for a while, but soon her face lights up with a satisfied smile.  
  
“Atta boy.” She answers, turning her attention on to his purchase. Her brow creases with confusion.  
  
“Pregnancy tests? Maxy? Is there something you wanna tell me?” She asks sternly, one of her hands resting on her hip.  
  
“No Josie don’t worry. This is for a friend.” He assures her and she nods, convinced.  
  
“Good. Not that I don’t want you to find someone special again but… with the card life dealt you it’s just… it’s a little too soon to be trying again.” She advises, ever the straight talker.  
  
“I know Josie. Trust me I know.” Max answers, making a conscious effort to keep smiling. His hand rubs the back of his head and he casts his eyes down, trying to hide the evidence of his pain. He doesn’t want to burden her with it.  
  
Not more than he already has any way.  
  
Max feels her hand on his arm before he has a chance to realise that she’s moved from behind the counter. When he turns to face her with wide eyes he finds her knowing smile beaming back at him.  
  
“Don’t try to hide from me Maxy. You should know that by now.” She says, wagging her finger at him playfully.  
  
“Was worth a shot,” he shrugs with a sad chuckle.  
  
“Honestly Josie, I don’t want you worried about me.” He adds.  
  
“I didn’t have any kids Max, couldn’t have any, so you’re the closest thing to a son I’ve got. I’ve been worrying about you since you we’re a little shorter than my second shelves and I’m sure as hell not gonna stop now.” She says kindly yet determined, then pulls him in for a hug.  
  
“You let me worry about worrying and focus on getting better OK?” She says as she rubs his backs lovingly. Max feels the familiar sting of tears in his eyes but smiles at the warmth he feels in his heart.  
  
A genuine smile.  
  
“Thanks Josie,” he says.  
  
“Anytime Maxy,” She answers, stepping away to cup his face. She gives his cheeks a little squeeze and scrunches her nose making him laugh.  
  
“That’s what I like to hear.” The old lady chuckles then let’s go of him and grabs the plastic bag off the counter.  
  
“Here you go.” She says, handing him his purchase.  
  
“Thanks Josie, how much do I owe you?” he asks.  
  
“Nothing. Its on the house.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“No, no, no.” She puts her hands up in front of her face to stop him from carrying on his protest.  
  
“I don’t want to hear about it. Take ‘em and go help your friend.” She insists and Max let’s our a half chuckle, half sigh as he shakes his head.  
  
“You’re one in a million you know that Josie?”  
  
“I do know that. But with my age it’s best you keep reminding me.” She winks.  
  
“Your age? You don’t look a day over forty.” He compliments and she laughs.  
  
“Get outta here.” She says and he laughs as he waves her goodbye and leaves the store.  
…  
  
The warming morning air pierces the cinnamon blanket that encapsulates the bakery when Max walks back in. Hellen is still where he left her, but without her cake and half her hot cocoa gone. She turns towards him as soon as the door opens.  
  
“Sorry about the wait,” he says, stepping towards her.  
  
“Not a problem at all, I was in very good company.” She answers, lifting her cup of cocoa to emphasise her point.  
  
“Did you get what you need?” She asks then takes a sip.  
  
“Actually,” he answers digging into the bag and retrieving one of the boxes from it.  
  
“I got what _you_ need.”  
And so the menacing box returns.  
In her shock, Hellen miss calculates where she puts down the cup and it tips over, coating her jeans with the sweet beverage. She shoots out of her seat, jolted by the liquids mild heat and after the initial shock wears off, she hurriedly dabs at the stain with a serviette.  
  
“I should… clean this up. Excuse me.” She says, without making eye contact and makes her escape towards the bathroom. It’s there, that her good old friends (tears) make another appearance. She looks up at her teary reflection in the mirror, her eyes blurred by the watery line impeding her vision. Her troubled heart races in her chest and she closes her eyes, letting her tears fall. She’s ashamed of her own cowardice but even more afraid of being confronted with an answer she’s not prepared for.  
  
A hand rests gingerly over hers on the sink, and her eyes shoot open to lock with his in his reflection. For the first time ever she’s able to see past the enchanting hue of his eyes into the tortured soul that lies restlessly within.  
  
His ghosts, twins of her own.  
  
“It’s gonna be OK,” he says, the sincerity clear in his voice.  
  
“I’ll be right here, no matter the outcome. I’ll be right here.”  
She looks at him with a furrowed brow and tears still brimming in her eyes. He gives her hand a gentle squeeze and holds out on of the tests to her. Helen swallows down the knot in her throat and with a shaky hand, takes the box from him. Her fear dissipates a little when she realises that the box doesn’t feel the same it did when she was alone earlier this morning. It’s not as heavy in her hand.  
  
It doesn’t feel like total defeat.  
  
She nods, telling him that she’s OK and he let’s go of her hand.  
  
“I’ll be right here when you’re ready,” he tells her and she offers him an uncertain but grateful smile before disappearing into a stall. Then she’s alone.  
  
It’s just her and the little box all over again.  
  
_Deep breaths Hellen. Deep breaths_.  
  
She tells herself.  
  
With an inhale, she opens the box. With an exhale she reaches in. The test is small, a little thicker than an ice cream stick. It feels breakable between her fingers and she represses a laugh as the thought that something so small could hold her entire future within it.  
  
_Breathe. Just keep breathing._  
  
She thinks.  
  
On the outside, Max is suddenly hit with a sense of déjà vu. He sinks to the ground and tries to calm his heart.  
  
_This is insane._  
  
He thinks.  
  
_The baby’s not even mine but I’m just as anxious as…_  
  
As the day he found out he was going to be a dad.  
  
_Georgia came out of the bathroom with the test in her hand and found Max on the floor by the bed. Her anxiousness was clear in her gaze, a look he’d become all to familiar with yet it still struck him each time he saw it. She sat beside him and their eyes locked, both of them hopeful. Both their stares saying the same thing._  
  
_**Maybe this is finally it.**_  
  
_He extended his hand and she took it, inter locking their fingers. He brought their joint hands to his lips and planted a kiss at the back of hers._  
  
_And so they waited in silence._  
  
The timer Helen set on her phone goes off, jolting them both out of the peaceful moment. She looks at him, scared. He squeezes the hand that’s in his, giving her the go ahead. She nods and lifts the test up so that she can see what it’s says.  
  
He holds his breath.  
  
She gasps.  
  
“What? What is it?” he asks, nervously.  
  
“It’s- it’s positive.” She exclaims and when she looks at him wide eyed she finds him staring back at her just as astounded.  
  
Then it hits her.  
  
She’s pregnant.  
  
Hellen looks down at the test and then back at Max. A huge smile brightens his features.  
  
“You’re pregnant!” he exclaims with a laugh and her own excitement begins to build. She gets up, still incredulous, but with a smile playing on her lips. Hellen breathes out a laugh as she looks down at the test for a third time.  
  
“I’m pregnant!” She exclaims and the difference in tone from the first time she said it is startling. At first she looked unsure, afraid of saying it out loud, almost as if she feared that admitting it too soon would lead to her wish not coming true. But now, her voice radiates pure joy. She looks up at him, her eyes a glow, and jumps on to him, wrapping him in a celebratory hug.  
  
“I’m pregnant!” She repeats, her enthusiasm doubled. Their chests rattle against each other as they both laugh.  
  
“Congratulations!” he offers as they pull apart just enough that they’re no longer hugging but still in each other’s arms. He looks down at her and feels a sudden warmth envelope him as her smiling face takes his breath away.  
  
It’s a genuine smile. Bright and beautiful. One he’s been dreaming about being able to show for the past year and knowing that he somehow contributed to it makes it that much more enchanting. His eyes widen and his face flushes. He’s suddenly very aware of her proximity. Hellen notices the change on his face and the gaze he’s boring onto her is intense enough that she begins to run out of breath herself. No one’s looked at her that way in years.  
  
Not since…  
  
Like she was a diamond under evaluation. Being appraised for the jewel she was, appreciated for her rarity. His gaze consumes her and she finds herself unable to move.  
  
Slowly, without either of them noticing, they begin to lean into each other.


	3. Fate and Second Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so so so so so (did I say so?) late!!!! And for the time you waited this is not the chapter I had planned but I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer. Really really sorry! 😭
> 
> Hope yall like what's coming, this is setting the scene for the rest of the story I'm sure you can guess where this is going next.❤️
> 
> In other news. TODAY'S MY BIRTHDAY! and as promised I opened up the floor to you all! Thank for you for the questions and once again thank you for the birthday wishes you all made my day!!!
> 
> XOXO
> 
> Cliffhanger warnings apply ♥️
> 
> P. S. Q & A is still on going so keep your questions coming!

* * *

Brrrring!

  
Her cell phone hollers and both Max and Helen jump apart, startled by the loud sound.  
  
“I – uh – I should get that,” Sharpe stumbles over her words awkwardly as she reaches for the phone in the pocket of her jeans.  
  
“This is Sharpe,” she says and if Max weren’t so preoccupied trying to bring his mind out of its haze he might have noticed the change in her demeanour, the sudden steadiness of her tone.  
  
 _I was about to kiss her!_  
  
He thinks to himself, trying his best to make sense of the moment. Yet the more he thinks about it, the less he understands. Georgia’s bloody face comes to the forefront of his mind and his stomach lurches.  
  
 _Air. I need air._  
  
With Sharpe otherwise occupied, Max makes his exit without a single word of goodbye, rushing towards the door like his life depends on it.  
  
 _What were you thinking?_  
  
He screams at himself. As he bursts into the, now, less quiet street he takes deep breaths of the morning air that hits his face. He doesn’t stop. He, simply runs in the direction of his apartment, allowing the burn of his strained lungs to distract him from the myriad of thoughts threatening to burst through the damn of his mind and flood him with memories he’s only recently learned to suppress.

  
But now as his feet hit the concrete hard, he keeps those haunting sensations at bay. He doesn’t allow himself to hear her voice whispering his name in his ear. He blocks away the thought of her bloody face, eyes open and cold and lifeless. He stops himself from inhaling the scent of her jasmine perfume.   
  
Because he knows that if he let’s her in, there won’t be any saving him this time. He’s not strong enough to fight that battle again. To crawl out of the grief and guilt. He’s still licking his war wounds, still assessing the damage, still putting the shredded pieces of the man he used to be back together.   
  
He’s not ready to face that reality again and he can’t move on without making peace with what was. So he’s stuck. Running circles at a cross roads. Trying and failing to pic a road to go down.   
  
It’s preferable that way. Its less painful to simply allow yourself to forget and form a bubble around yourself to keep those memories at bay. Keep the life he had before at bay. Shut the person he was out. Forgetting is all the medicine he needs.   
  
And just as he steps into his apartment he remembers that he forgot to pay his bill.

* * *

Sharpe bangs the door to her apartment closed, infuriated and feeling taken advantage of. She can’t believe she fell for such a pathetic act.  
  
“Clearly, my pregnancy is driving me to insanity!” She screams to no one in particular as she stomps to the bathroom and at the thought of her pregnancy her nerves simmer down. She forgets the con artist that charmed her with a smile and left her with the bill. Forgets that he was about to kiss her, maybe even take advantage of her, before her phone rang and saved her.   
  
All she can think about now is her baby. An ecstatic smile erupts over her lips as her hands find her stomach and her eyes grow moist once again. Only this time, they’re tears of joy. Stepping into the bathroom, she faces the crumpled box with a new found confidence. She feels empowered by the knowledge that she carries inside her, the chance of a new life. A new shot at happiness. A pang of guilt threatens to shatter her joy but with a deep breath she keeps the smile on her lips and proceeds into the bathroom. Without a second quiver, Helen picks up the disfigured box and throws it into the trash can. She nods at it, almost as if to say a final goodbye, then walks out just as her phone begins to chime. She retrieves the device from her couch, where she’d flung it in her rage filled entrance and her eyes grow wide as she realises she’s late for work.  
  
The, normally, timed morning routine turns into a rushed tornado of events. Shower, teeth, dress, hair.  
  
Where are my car keys?  
  
Bullocks! My purse!  
  
The car door slams shut and she’s finally off.  
  


* * *

  
There are moments in life, coincidences, touches of fate, acts of the universe that to the un-attentive mind might go unnoticed. Instances in time, like the split second Max dropped to tie his laces and a rushed Hellen stormed past while chatting away feverishly on her phone. The blink of an eye in which the elevator doors shut taking Hellen up to her office and leaving Max to huff and puff his way up the stairs. Max’s phone ringing just as he reached the door to the fifth floor, making him step back into the privacy of the staircase just as Sharpe marched passed.  
  
Insignificant close encounters leading up to one monumental moment. The moment in which both their hearts stopped as they were introduced as colleagues. Sharpe as head of oncology and Max as the new medical director.   
  
So an adventure begins.

* * *

_Coming next:_

_**The Tragedy of Max**_


	4. The Tragedy of Max

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only say I'm sorry. This story has been neglected because I had the biggest writters block. BUT IM CURED NOW! so here it is. I hope you all enjoy and if you find anything confusing, don't worry explanations will follow in the upcoming chapters. For now, ENJOY!!! And please stay safe. 
> 
> xoxo  
> P.S. Cliffhanger warnings apply

It’s normal to think of life as a sequence of events continually changing and processes being created in passing seconds, minutes, hours, instances and moments in time. As such, Max’s life lead him down a path that inevitably made him part of Helen’s…

_10 years ago…_

“Mom, Dad! I’m home!” Max exclaimed as he took the key out the lock and closed the door to his parents little apartment.

“Welcome home baby.” His mother said, whipping her hands on her flour dusted apron as she came into the living room to greet him. She embraced him warmly, as she always did and he closed his eyes and smiled, simply enjoying her love.

“How was school?” she was work? She asked and Max simply let out and overly dramatic sigh.

“That bad huh?” she chuckled.

“You have no idea Mrs Goodwin. There was a five car pile-up in our vicinity and the ER was swamped. I saw less blood when we were studying blood samples back in med school.” Max answered as he took of his coat and laid it down on the couch before following his mom to the kitchen. That part of the house always smelled of baked goods and that day it smelled of his mom’s famous blueberry scones.

“Well, it was the profession you picked. You’ll be seeing a lot more blood from here on out, I can tell you that.” Julia Goodwin answered as she bent down to spy on her baked goods.

“I know, I know. And it will all be worth it to save a life or two.” He answered, reaching into the fridge for some water.

“Where’s the old man?” he asked while pouring himself a glass and enjoying a cooling sip.

“He went to lie down not too long ago.” she answered, taking the scones out of the oven.

“I’ll go see if he needs anything.” Max said as he walked passed his mom and snatched one of the freshly baked treats that rested on the cooling rack.

“Maxy!” His mom scolded after him. “You’ll spoil your dinner!”

“I love you too mom!” he yelled back and heard her mumbling something in response. Probably something along the lines of “That boy never changes.”

The subtle sweetness of the scones merged perfectly with the burst of fruity acidity granted by the blueberries. It was like a taste festival in his mouth and Max knew from the first bite that he’d gone down a rabbit hole from which there is no return. If those scones lasted the night, it would be with a lot of luck. 

That was the beauty of his mom’s home baked treats. Sure, it was his mom so he was entitled to be biased but still, the woman had fairy hands and anyone within a two block radius could tell you that. Max finished off the scone in three bites, just as he reached his parents bed room.

“Hey dad, I’m home.” He announced as he stepped inside and an alarm went off in his head.

Anyone else walking into that scene would have simply thought that his father was sound asleep, but Max knew better. His dad was a chronic snorer and right at that moment the room was silent enough that you could hear a pin drop.

“Dad?” Max asked again as he stepped closer to the bed but his father didn’t move a muscle. Max placed a hand on his father’s arm to shake him awake and his mind went blank.

Albert Goodwin’s skin, was ice cold.

_Today…_

“You!” Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head as she stares him down, her brow completely furrowed with rage.

“Have the two of you met?” Dora asks, looking between them both.

“Uh not exactly,” Max rushes to answer before his new colleague has a chance to ruin the first impression he’s worked so hard to build. He then extends his hand and plasters on his brightest smile, saying:

“Hi. Nice to meet you, I’m Max Goodwin.”

Not hiding her displeasure but (much to Max’s relief) playing along, Sharpe simply folds her arms and coldly answers:

“Helen Sharpe.” 

Max awkwardly retracts his hand, trying his best not to let her stare intimidate him though the more they remain in that awkward silence, the less courageous he gets. He knows he has to apologise to her, but by the look on her face his first impression (at least the one she has of him) is going to be hard to change.

“Well would you look at the time, Max I need to be in a meeting soon, Sharpe would you mind showing him around?”

“What? Me?”

“Thank you. You’re a star. Goodbye you two.” And with that she leaves, completely ignoring Sharpe’s protests.

“I – uh – I can find my way around, you really don’t have to…”

“No. This is business. I can’t and won’t let my personal judgements of your character, or lack thereof, interfere with my work ethic. Please follow me Dr Goodwin.” She says and stomps off without waiting for a response, her head held uncomfortably high.

“Wow, people really need to listen to each other more in here.” Max whispers to himself under his breath before following her out of her office. Her high heeled steps echo furiously down the hospitals bustling corridors and Max rubs the back of his neck as he tries to come up with an ingenious yet natural way to approach the topic of their first meeting and apologise.

“I um, I’d like to ap-”

“This,” she cuts him off is the main hall as I’m sure you’ll know cafeteria is to your left and the elevators are up a head. Have you been downstairs to the psych ward yet?”

“No I don’t believe I-”

“Follow me.”

Max bites down on his bottom lip and takes a deep breath before following her towards the lifts. Apologising is going to be harder than he thought. They step into an empty lift and as the doors close he gathers up his courage and tries again.

“Listen Dr Sharpe, about yesterday...”

This time it’s the elevator that cuts him off as it opens up on the next floor and another doctor steps in.

“Morning Sharpe.” The man greets and the smile that spreads onto her lips leaves Max whiplashed. What a change in character!

“Morning Reynolds. How was your weekend?” she asks cheerfully and it’s almost hard to believe that she’s the same woman he met just a few minutes ago.

“It was none existent, I’ve been in on call since noon on Saturday.” He laments.

“Oi, you’ve had it rough I see.” she sympathises with him, all the while Max waits causally in the back to be introduced.”

“You have no idea. But how about you? How are you feeling?” he asks and Max presumes that she must have been dealing with her pregnancy symptoms at work.

“Much better this morning thank you, and I hope to stay that way.” She answers and Dr Goodwin notes how she casually leaves out that part that she’s probably going to be sick for the next nine months. The lift dings and Dr Reynolds stop and he says,

“Well, this is my stop, glad to hear you’re doing better.” He then surprises Max by turning towards him and extending a hand in greeting.

“Sorry for the late introduction, Floyd Reynolds.” He says.

“Goodness where are my manners?” Helen casually covers up, “Dr Floyd this is Dr Goodwin he’s our new…” she stalls, clearly unaware of Max’s position.

“Medical director. Hi, Max Goodwin at your service.” Max takes over and gives Dr Reynolds’s hand a firm shake.

“Mm already in cahoots with the new boss I see. You are definitely not one to snooze on the job Sharpe.”

Sharpe hides her discomfort behind a laugh and a friendly wave as her colleague gets off of the lift and Max hopes to make use of her sudden change in humour to start an uninterrupted conversation with her, sadly he has no luck. Sharpe’s mood changes back as soon as the elevator doors close again and the sudden chill that takes over the place makes Max swallow his words.

Her hostility continues as she finishes his tour of the office with the necessary introductions made. Her interactions with her colleagues only serve to highlight how much she dislikes him and with each genuine smile and burst of laughter she shares with someone else, Max grows increasingly uncomfortable. He’s not one to get particularly affected if someone doesn’t particularly like him, but the fact that this dislike stems from a misunderstanding really rubs him the wrong way.

_But can you blame her? I mean you nearly kissed the woman moments after meeting her then left her with your coffee bill._

He sighs, ruminating in the helplessness of his situation. How on earth is he going to make it up to her?

“Finally, this is my home in the hospital. Oncology.” She says gesturing down a passage way. Max’s throat goes dry and his nose suddenly picks up the strong scent of acid. He grows a little light headed and prays that Sharpe doesn’t go down the hall to show him each and every room.

Unfortunately for him, she does exactly that. 

Her voice, as she explains what patients reside in each room and in what stage of their treatment they are, sounds like a mess of incoherent sounds made under water. As they make their way passed room after room, he feels his stomach lurch, his heart rate picks up, his palms grow sweaty, and for the life of him he can’t remember how to breathe.

He notices, for the first time, that they’ve stopped, when his back registers the presence of her hand.

“Are you okay?” she asks, though her voice sounds distant and all he can say is “Air. Air.” With Sharpe as support he manages to put one foot in front of the other and she leads him away from his source of stress. The two of them take a lift to the roof and as soon as the fresh air hits his face, Max starts to regain his senses. He takes a few deep breaths and slides down a wall to sit on the ground. Helen crouches down beside him, her anger forgotten as her medical instincts kick in. As soon as his breathing stabilizes, she feels it’s safe to try and communicate.

“How are you feeling?” she asks and he looks at her and nods.

“Better, thank you.” he says still a little breathless but at least his able to speak.

“How long have you had these panic attacks for? Are they frequent?”

“A year and less frequent then they used too since I started therapy.”

“Therapy?” she questions, the surprise and concern clear in her voice and once again Dr Goodwin nods his response.

Deciding that it’s a little too sensitive a topic to probe into (considering that they’re both strangers), Helen keeps her questions to herself and so both doctors sit in silence.

“I’m sorry.” Max says after a few minutes of stillness.

“Oh no, you don’t have to be sorry. I understand that you can’t always control these sorts of things.” Sharpe says in a kind tone, the first she’s directed at him since their reencounter.

“I’m not talking about the panic attack, though I am sorry about that too. I’m apologising for yesterday. I can’t give an exact explanation as to what happened exactly but I can tell you that it was something _very_ out of character for me. I hope you can accept my apology and that you’ll let me make it up to you.” he says sincerely.

“Make it up to me? How?” she asks, intrigued. Perhaps seeing him in his previous state of distress has softened her up and made her warm up to him a little, or pregnancy has made her a pushover, but the truth is, she’s leaning towards forgetting her previous reservations she has over him. Then Max stops her heart by looking her in the eyes with an expression that she can’t quite pinpoint and asking.

“Have dinner with me on Friday night. My treat.” 

Coming Soon:

HELEN’S WORST NIGHTMARE


End file.
